Black & White
by TheVulpineHero1
Summary: A series of connected oneshots that look at the strange relationship shared by Vincent and Yuffie.
1. White

_** White**_

I remember the day when it happened- the first time I really knew Vincent. I was slumped over Teef's bar, at three in the afternoon, and we were having 'girl talk'. Well, okay, we weren't. She was having girl talk, I was bitching about my latest dating catastrophe.

Just to let you know, I wasn't drunk. I'm a ninja. Ninja are never drunk. Not even on their eighteenth birthday. I wasn't drunk. I had a head cold and I was hallucinating. I got the head cold by using my awesome ninja powers to stay underwater for eight hours whilst spying on Reeve. Yup.

But anyways. I was talking to Teef, and all of a sudden, she turns around, and plonks her glass back on the counter, and she snaps back at me, "That's just life, Yuffie. Love isn't black and white."

Yup. That's Philosopher Teef for ya. Never let it be said that she's all breasts and no brain. Although, I sometimes worry about the ratio.

Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more it bugged me. Why couldn't love be black and white? It seemed simple enough to me. I was telling her so, but she just asked me if I was _sure_ I wasn't drunk. Now, I'm not a touchy person- ninja have epic control over their emotions- but I just can't resist a good storm off. So, I got up, told her that her new cocktail tasted like Cid's ashtray, and left.

I was on my way out when I saw a familiar face. It was a familiar face not only because we'd pretty much been through hell together, but also because his exploits as 'savior of the world' had earned him about a gazillion screaming fangirls that he didn't want. Yup, Mr Glass Half Empty himself, Vincent Valentine.

He looked almost out of place, in the middle of Edge. Boob's bar was in a pretty lively area, and the dull reds and blacks of his costume made him stand out more than if he had been wearing nothing but neon bulb. I wondered idly what he wore when he washed it. Or did he wash it at all? The thought made me shudder.

"Yuffie. How...nice to see you. Are you cold?" he said, cocking his head _ever_ so slightly as he looked at me. Normal people didn't notice his little gestures, but to a trained (and awesome) ninja, they were plain as day.

"No. I was just...uh..."

He looked at me again, confusion clouding his crimson eyes. It happened a lot. It seemed he just couldn't figure me out.

"Say, Vince. What are you doing outside your crypt, anyway?" I asked, looking for a chance of subject.

"Tifa has invited me to taste test one of her cocktails." he answered, looking as though he'd rather give a rectal exam to a skunk.

"Oh, Boobs asked you to? Man. She already talked Cloud and Cid into it. For the guys that handed Sephiroth his butt back, you sure are whipped." I teased, flashing him a grin.

Vince, however, simply went a little paler than usual. "Boobs...? Whipped? What are you talking about?"

I have to admit, right there, that I laughed so hard I almost threw up. I don't even know what set me off. Maybe it was just Vince being Vince. I didn't mind, though. I needed a good chuckle. As soon as I was done _not_ retching all over his fancy golden clogs, he gave me that strange look that only he has. It's kind of a cross between utter confusion and mild amusement, a weirdly cute blend of two emotions you really have to kick him before he'll show.

"Yuffie...Are you drunk?" he asked.

"No-no-no-no." I said, waving my hands. "I just got drafted in to taste Boo- er, Teef's new cocktail."

"...In that case, I believe I shall think twice before partaking of it. It appears to have had a marked effect." he muttered.

I huffed and told him to bite me, forgetting for a moment the running jokes about him being a secret vampire. Luckily, he appeared to have forgotten them too- or, more likely, something important had occurred to him.

"Yuffie. How did you get here?" he asked, crimson eyes locked onto mine. My stomach did a somersault, although I wasn't sure if it was the glare or the cocktail.

"I drove." I responded, pointing to the SHADOWFOX armoured van I had 'borrowed' from work. He put his head in his hands and groaned almost silently.

"The last time I was in one of those, you were _supposed_ to be driving. And you crashed. I'm assuming that you were sober at the time, although it's sometimes hard to tell. Reeve would be very displeased if I let you drive off drunk and you died." he said, shadows and acid charging his words. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. I couldn't even parallel park those damn things.

And so it came to pass that Sir Cape 'n' Claw brought me to his place to 'sleep it off'. I was almost semi-pleased with the development. I'd never seen Vincent's place before. I think he was happy- or at least as close as he gets to happy- about it, too, because it gave him a cast-iron excuse to not drink Teef's booze. I didn't know what to expect, except that his house would be in Kalm. My mind kept getting lost in thoughts of a giant medieval dungeon, complete with shackles and coffins, all cunningly disguised with the exterior of Kalm's little cottages.

As it turned out, I was, for the first time in my entire life, wrong. Well, half-wrong. It wasn't a dungeon- you wouldn't find any shambling corpses or thumbscrews, for instance- but it _was_ old fashioned. There was a lot of rich wood there, the high quality stuff that your grandma has wet dreams over. There were low ceilings, and- get this- the guy had an open hearth going there. It was like that house everyone goes to at Christmas.

I asked him about it, once, a lot later. The answer was a triumph for idiot-logic.

"Yuffie, in the past four or five years, I have survived three events in which, logically, the world _should_ have ended. Sephiroth has died, been reborn, and died again, and the lifestream almost stolen by the planet's final weapon. I have accepted the possibility that, if I can live through all this, I may well keep living for quite a while. Therefore, spending money on the place that I shall have to keep living _in _is not a bad investment."

Yes. He really did say that. It took him about fifteen minutes, with all his little dramatic pauses and my prompts for him to go on included, but he said it.

Now, what was I talking about...Oh, yeah. Anyway, that was my first look inside his place. I have to admit, I was a little impressed. But I was less impressed by his manners.

"There is a couch in the room to the left. You may spend the night there." he said, acting as if he were doing me a great honor.

"Y'know, Vinster, it's traditional that when a guy brings a young woman back to his crib, he gives her the bed. If you carry on like this, you're never going to get any tail." I huffed.

Leaving him completely baffled beneath the emo-goth exterior, I went to go and slum on his sofa. It was rock hard. He'd probably never even used it.

Nevertheless, a small amount of discomfort does not stop a ninja doing what she wants, and this ninja wanted to sleep. Unfortunately, where a small amount of discomfort failed, Vincent Valentine succeeded. As I was tossing and turning, the most blood-curdling noise came from his bedroom. I'm not kidding when I say I thought he was strangling a cat. I didn't have any shuriken- Teef usually handles any troublemakers at the bar, except when Cloud's there. Then bad things happen and someone ends up with sword wounds.

It turned out I didn't need one, though. Vinnie came out of his room of his own accord, looking somewhat put out. I glared at him.

He looked almost sheepish, and said, in his lowest tones, "My apologies. I...sneezed."

"Gawd, Vince. What am I gonna do with you?" I said, punching him on the arm and grinning. Still looked concerned. I can only guess that he didn't sneeze very often.

By some sort of unspoken agreement, we both stayed up. For a while, we sat in silence, just letting the sound of nothing echo around his house. I think that made him feel a little better. After a while, though, I did something that I can't imagine doing, and had no reason to do.

I can only say that I was probably drunk after all.

"Vinnie? Why is love so tough?"

The question rang out like some kind of blasphemy in a church. For a moment, he didn't speak. Great ninja that I am, I was too scared to look at his face in that moment.

"Because, Yuffie Kisaragi. You have lived in dreams with alabaster walls, where nightmares dare not to haunt." he said, his voice drifting in the air like fine smoke. He offered no explanation, and I didn't ask for one. I tried to change the subject, feebly.

"You, uh...like poetry, then?"

He turned and looked at me, then, with crimson eyes alight and dancing. His body was straight and tall, like a tower, bearing down on me.

"And if I do? I can understand why you would degrade such things, but for some it constitutes an outlet for things that should never have been suffered." he said, with his voice like ice. My heart flipped. Jeez, he was intense when he was mad!

"Actually...I like poetry." I admitted, looking down at my feet for fear of meeting those eyes. "It's a strong Wutain tradition. It's 'the finest form of feeling', or something like that."

As soon as I'd said it, the charge in the air dropped. I could almost feel his body moving back to how it had been again. The hairs on my arms prickled.

"I apologise." he said, simply. "There seems to be a sentiment against it amongst young people."

"And you thought I had something against it because of that? You don't really know me at all, do you?" I said, my voice falling back into sing-song teasing. But I could hear a timidness that wasn't there before that kind of annoyed me.

"You are...hard to predict." he said.

We let that drift in the air for a while. I was thinking about what had just happened, and how this was going to change things between us. On one hand, I was still cautious of his anger. But, on the other, we'd shared something. We were closer, now, than before.

"Vince?" I asked, after five minutes of silence.

"Yes." he said, without inflection, just signalling he was listening.

"Is love black and white?"

I must've been drunk.

Vince didn't answer straight away. But he didn't turn around, and ask me if I was okay, or wonder what I was asking the question for. He took me seriously, like an adult. It gave me a warm feeling inside.

"....Yes. Love is, indeed, black and white." he said, his claw reaching up to brush his chin gently.

"Tifa said it wasn't. I didn't understand why, and I got angry, and I left...and I guess that's the reason all this happened." I said, almost apologetically. What was _wrong_ with me?

"Love is black and white because there are two kinds of love, Yuffie. The first is warm, like a thick cloak on a winter night. It keeps you safe and warm. The second is like coffee."

I stared at him, a little. A small smile, only perceptible to the sharpest of eyes, crept across his face.

"It's black and bitter-sweet, and burns in the back of your throat." he explained.

I stood there, and I had to admit, I was impressed. Damn, Vince was good.

"So. If there's two kinds of love, which is 'true love'?" I asked, testing him.

"Both." he answered. After a moment's silence, he went on, "Both. True love is both black and white, like the keys of a piano. And they say that it is also like a beautiful melody, that once played, can never be played again."

The night drew to a close. I left the next day, thanking him for his hospitality. He told me it had been "a pleasure, I think". I smiled as I drove the SHADOWFOX back to work the next day.

I ought to get drunk more often.

_** -BlackxWhite-  
End!  
**_

Well, ouch. I got some comments on my Yuffentine Valentine's day special which indicated that I could write good Yuffentine's, so I immediately wrote this one to prove that I can't.

Seriously, though. It didn't come out nearly as well as I'd like it to. I couldn't really capture Yuffie's point of view, and probably should have done it in Vincent's anyway. The concept was nice, though.

OOC? Maybe. However hard we try to hide it, all of us have a sensitive side, even Vincent and Yuffie. And, with culture and experience as motivators, it's perfectly possible that both could find an outlet in poetry.

Really, though, it was an excuse to have Vincent sounding epic with his little sound bites. So sue me.

Which raises a point: my disclaimer. Well, as disclaimers are legally invalid (and really if you put one, you're just admitting that you know you broke the law), Square can sue me if the mood takes them. But they'll get all of two pounds, and lose on free advertising and fan culture. So, yeah- we're only allowed to use the characters because it's a good deal for the people who made them, so long as we don't profit.

Wishing you a Merry March for reasons I don't quite understand,

TheVulpineHero1

Note: I recently edited this chapter to make it congruous with a second (unplanned) chapter. The edit consisted entirely of putting the word 'White' at the top. And changing the separators.


	2. Black

_**Black**_

It had been three days since the memorable night when I, and a somewhat drunken Yuffie, had been disturbed by my violent sneezes in the middle of the night and unanimously decided to stay up and discuss poetry.

Curiously, the number of messages I received on my cellphone during those three days was exactly three. One was from Tifa, who wondered where the hell I had gone when I was supposed to be trying her cocktail. The second informed me that my name was Mr. Smith, and that I was defaulting on my car payments. It carried on to tell me that if I did not provide payment within one week, they would take measures to ensure I didn't have the audacity to fall behind again. I decided to ignore them.

The third, however, was from Yuffie herself. It was, as per usual with Yuffie's messages, written in some strange and undecipherable codex. Normally, I would have simply deleted it and banished it from my mind; however, after our night-time encounter, I felt obliged to at least make a half-hearted effort to read it.

After around ten minutes of annoying key tapping, I had copied Yuffie's strange hieroglyphics into a message, and added the words, 'Please translate', underneath. Pleased with my work, I sent it to Cloud, sure that he would know what was going on.

The message came back a few minutes later. I stared at it incredulously. Cloud's talent at deciphering codices was even more pronounced than I had hoped. The translated message read:

"Hey Vince. Just to let you know, there's an arts festival being held in Wutai next week. I have to go because my old man is sponsoring it. Wanna come with?

Love, Yuff."

With some difficulty, I sent her a message affirming that I would attend. Of course, I was soon to regret it. I had forgotten one of the first lessons I had learned since being awoken: that Yuffie Kisaragi's middle name was, indeed, Trouble.

_**-BlackxWhite-**_

I arrived at the festival with some time left to spare before I was to meet Yuffie. Having the world's greatest pilot as one's personal taxi service was yet another unspoken advantage of being a 'hero'. Wutai was cloaked in vibrant livery and vivid but incomprehensible banners, and the river ran sparkling pink with the fallen blossoms of the trees. Where before had stood a resort town stood a new, proud entity steeped in history and tradition. It was...remarkable.

Almost without realising it, I had begun to walk along the river's bank, the soft marshy ground sucking at my boots. Of course, something so picturesque could not be perfect. The beauty was all in appearance. Outside the whispering utopia that greeted the eyes, women screeched, children screamed and men barked. The mud was still sticky and foul, the air still stank of overpowering pine, and through it all there was a back-beat of unexplainable isolation.

It felt like home.

The tinkling of wind-chimes broke my reverie. Amongst the noise and cacophony of such a festival, a fragile, elfin sound such as that was not often heard. It was almost surreal in the way it simply faded away, not crushed, battered or sullied by the more strident sounds around it. It was like a fairy dancing in the footsteps of giants.

Whether the sound was an omen or not, I cannot say. I have seen and felt too much of the most bitter irony to put my faith in the law of coincidences. Likewise, my life has been irrevocably changed by sheer chance, heedless of design or reason. I feel that neither Fate, nor Chance, can ever fully explain the mysteries of everyday life.

Regardless of any philosophical arguments or conjecture, Yuffie appeared, as if summoned by the bell. She grinned, as she often does, and picked her way through the crowd towards me with alarming grace. As she got closer, her smile seemed to become less like the sweet smile of an angel and more like the mischievous grin of an imp.

It startles me, even now, that I did not figure out her intent until the second she took that last step towards me and placed her hand on my shoulder. Shocked, I made no resistance as she applied the tiny amount of pressure needed to send me soaring into the river behind me. Even as the water- the cold, frigid, teeth-achingly glacial water- accepted me into its crushing embrace, my mind still seemed to have no idea what had happened. I remember wondering, idly, what I was thinking about.

Eventually, however, my mind caught up with the world around it. But not before I had lost precious seconds. My arms were already numb from cold, my mantle already sodden. The metal of my gauntlets, boots and gun was dragging me down to the riverbed, where I might sleep an endless sleep. My body surged into action, grasping in vain at the water for some purchase. I felt a tearing in my chest, the sharp ache of my lungs protesting for oxygen. I had felt the same thing before, under the deep, warm earth. New, panicked power surged through my sodden limbs, and I flailed harder than before.

I have been told that it only took thirty seconds until I broke the surface, my hair dripping and matted like a dog's. I have also been told that I spent the next five minutes alternating between shivering piteously and cursing Yuffie with all the vehemence of a drunken goblin. However, I was told both of these things by Yuffie herself, and I am not inclined to believe either of them. My own memory is blurred, as it always is when I am forced to fight for my life. However, it seemed to me that I was underwater far longer.

This event cast a pall over our evening, to say the least. Sometimes, the same things that provided satisfaction when you were five can provide equal satisfaction in your adult life; this considered, I spent the evening not talking to her. To her credit, Yuffie ignored it admirably, babbling on as if I had been replying in greatest earnestness. She babbled because she knew I would listen, whether I wanted to or not.

She told me of Godo's ever worsening health. She waxed lyrical on her old ninja instructors, of the impish pranks she had played and the merry revenge that they had taken. She told me of Wutaian delicacies, of traditions and culture. Of sunshine, and of technology, and of pets. And each time she paused for breath, her face was flushed from laughter, and from life.

"So, Vinnie. Are you looking forwards to seeing me perform?" she smiled, a devious look in her eye.

"...You're participating?" I asked, intrigued. I had forgotten that I wasn't talking to her. This was precisely what she wanted.

"Oh, yeah. I'm a master ninja of many talents, each as awesome as the last." she laughed.

"Hmph...With an attitude like that, I can only assume that you are not reciting poetry." I replied, noting her deliberately offhand response.

"Would you like me to?" she grinned. "Oh how do I annoy thee? Let me count the ways..."

One thing can be said for Yuffie: she is excellent at multi-tasking. Whilst simultaneously parodying one of the world's most well known verses and bathing in the warm glow of her own ego, she guided us to a set of seats. The chairs were oaken, sturdy and comfortable. I ran my good hand over the knotted wood, and was pleased. Until I realised that we were right next to the stage.

"Yuffie..."

"I know, I know. Being close to the stage is bad for reasons only you understand or care about." she smirked. "Don't worry. You can leave after the third act."

After a period of eight glorious minutes and fifty-one precious seconds where Yuffie's mouth had remained shut, the Wutaian performers filed towards the stage with the same brand of stern professionalism I had possessed as a Turk. As soon as I made the comparison, it soured in the pit of my stomach. They took the stage, looking as though they would keep right on going in their act regardless of interruption. For a moment, I was tempted to change into Galian Beast and watch the reaction.

Yuffie would have actually done it.

The first performance was a five-minute piece of theatre, which I'm sure was very good. I cannot comment on it myself, partially because theatre is not my strength, but more because it was performed entirely in the Wutaian language. I thought about asking Yuffie to translate, and stole a glance sideways to see her face in rapt attention. Her eyes were fixed, and she had bitten her bottom lip gently. I watched discreetly for two of the five minutes, and was astounded by the respect she paid the actors by her attention.

When it was done, there was a short changeover between actors. Yuffie turned to me and whistled.

"Wow, that was a great performance!" she laughed.

"...Was it? What was it about?" I asked, awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah! You don't understand Wutaian...I forgot. Didn't I teach you any?"

"...I am fairly sure you taught me the meaning of a few obscure Wutaian curses so they would be more effective when you yelled them at me." I frowned.

"Eheh...well, I'll tell you what it was about later. It's poetry now." she said sheepishly.

And so it was. The poetry was on the lower side of superb. Once again, having a non-existant grasp of Wutaian language (polite Wutaian language, anyway) somewhat hampered my enjoyment. However, even the language barrier did not detract from the pure lyrical quality of the pieces they recited. It was, to be sure, a beautiful words in a beautiful language, spoken with pride. When it was over- I do not recall how long it took- I turned to Yuffie to comment on my newfound admiration for her native tongue, and found, to my surprise, that she was gone, her seat taken by a rotund middle aged woman in an unholy pink shirt.

For a few seconds, I was worried that Yuffie had simply tired of me, or the poetry, and had gone home. It seemed not unlike her. I was about to ask the portly usurper of her seat if she had any knowledge of Yuffie's whereabouts when I saw movement in the corner of my eye.

It was the ninja, waving at me maniacally from the stage, in stark contrast to the calm professionals standing beside her. She had changed clothes, as had the supporting cast. The professionals wore what Yuffie would later define as a kimono, fashioned in the same colours as the water and the blossoms of the trees.

I could not imagine Yuffie wearing such a thing, and evidently neither could anyone else; her costume was different. Although it was the same in form, colour and pattern, it was cut short at the waist, whereas the others tumbled like fabric waterfalls to the floor. She wore simple black shorts to complete her take on formal wear.

I heard a muted tut from one of her supporting cast- and they were supporting cast, because Yuffie Kisaragi could never be anywhere but the centre of attention. She stopped waving at me and flushed, before assuming her position on stage, her cheeks still tinged red. The others filed behind her, military fashion, but with some other quality I cannot define. I heard Yuffie taking a gasping breath to calm herself, and with a gentle sweep of her leg, she began.

She was dancing. And as a lead dancer, no less. I watched carefully. Where Yuffie led, the other dancers followed; sometimes, they would split off with their own motions and designs, forming one flowing pattern with the other parts of the troupe. It took an open mind and an impressionistic eye to capture it, and some of it was lost on me, but I could see the skill of the troupe.

I will admit that, for a few minutes, Yuffie's performance disappointed me. The other dancers were perfect in motion and form; Yuffie was not. She handled her part competently, but awkwardly, I thought; she had no place at the head of such a skilled group.

The longer I watched, however, the more I began to notice that, whilst the other dancers were perfect, my eyes were drawn easily and naturally to her. They were perfect; she was more. Their movements were flawless; hers were clumsy and forceful. They moved in time; she missed the beat. But all through it, her clumsy movements had a beauty all of their own. Her force was the same as when she was in battle, giving heart and soul to the fight. Her grace was not in perfection, but imperfection. She was black and they were white, a rhapsody of colours giving form and beauty to movement. Perhaps it was a form of poetry after all.

-BlackxWhite-

The festival ended, and so did our rendezvous. I must admit that I saw her in a new light; and that the new light came not from without but within her personality. I had more respect for her.

"So, Vinnie. Who nabbed my seat whilst I was gone?" she asked. I smiled. Graceful dancing aside, Yuffie was still Yuffie.

"...A plump lady who I decided I did not want the acquaintance of." I said. Yuffie broke into giggles.

"Vince, that's harsh! You shouldn't say things like that! It's bad karma!"

"Karma?" I asked. I'd heard of it, but not inquired further.

"Yeah. Basically, every bad thing you put into the world comes back on you." she said. Then she gasped, and looked at me with an expression of worry and mischief. "You're thinking about something all gloomy now, aren't you?"

I smiled. Actually, I was thinking about... "Perhaps."

She grinned and walked on a few steps. I grabbed my chance, and, with a motion as graceful and beautiful as any she had made that day, pushed her into the river.

One week later, the manager of my apartment, Mr. Smith, told us that he needed to put the rents up temporarily as he had defaulted on his new car and was being threatened by his creditors.

Karma. Maybe she has something there.

_**-BlackxWhite-  
End!**_

Well, once again, this was a monster to write; however, I feel more comfortable with Vincent's viewpoint to Yuffie's. Whenever I see Vincent forced to deal with something that isn't shooting dangerous things in the head, I always get the feeling that he looks ever so slightly bemused. I take the more literary and lyrical aspects of his speech from his last piece of dialogue in the airship on Disc Three of FFVII- the whole 'We must now fight under the earth' thing. He has an eye for a metaphorical. I also got the feeling that his own thoughts are important, and that he's more affected than most by what goes on inside his head, as opposed to what goes on in the outside world.

This chapter is dedicated to all the people who messaged me and told me I should write another chapter. I am, in fact, considering working it into a chaptered fic, if anyone's interested.

Also, I was playing around with separators in this chapter, amid rumours that the ol' three asterixes don't work. I have no idea.

~TheVulpineHero1


	3. Karma

_**White

* * *

**_

Nothing beats the feeling of waking up in the morning six hours late for work. I've learned that through experience, and it's a strange blend of feelings. One half of you is, like, 'Gawd, I'm late AGAIN. I'm so fired. What the hell am I gonna do?'

The other half is all, like, 'Who caaaaares? I'm an epic ninja. I can get another job. May as well go back to sleep."

Well, okay. Maybe that's not how it is for _you_, but it's exactly how it is for me. Except, it isn't. At least, not any more.

That's what happens when your boss is one of your best friends AND knows your mobile number. No more lie-ins.

My phone buzzed next to my head like a hornet, stinging me again and again with guilt. Hey, you never know with me. That next phone call might be asking me to help save the world. Again. Groaning, I reached over and tapped in my answerphone code.

"_Yuffie. Hn? Is this message recording feature even functioning? Hmph. It doesn't matter. Reeve has asked me to come and get you, regardless of what condition you're in. I shall arrive at your house at approximately one-thirty pm. Be clothed, please."_

Even though he hadn't left his name, it was so obviously Vince. I guessed that Reeve got sick of me ignoring his calls. Groaning, I looked at the time.

"Wait, one-twenty-four?" I shrieked, leaping from the covers. Vincent was gonna show up at my house in six minutes, and there I was sitting in my underwear!

As I leapt, I heard clinking. And crashing. And smashing. That's not a good thing, because it usually means there's bottles around my bed. Bottles that, nine times out of ten, had alcohol in them a couple hours ago.

As soon as my feet hit the floor, it became startlingly obvious that I was hungover, because my face hit the floor seconds later. Dammit all.

At least my fall gave me time to count the bottles. Although, I didn't. Because that would be depressing.

I snuck a look at my phone, and found that sixty of my three-hundred-and-sixty precious seconds had ticked away, and I was still no nearer to dressed than when I started. Luckily, my very urgent desire to _not_ have Vincent see me sitting in my knickers and surrounded by empty beer bottles got me up almost as fast as I'd gone down.

Within four minutes, I had accomplished a herculean feat: I had hidden the beer bottles and struggled into a somewhat unflattering green jumper and some cargo pants. (And hey, for all you critics: Herc may have wrestled the Hydra, but I doubt he could have done it if he had ten bottles of Budweiser in his system.) I whiled away my spare minutes by wondering exactly _why _I had the jumper and the cargoes. I mean, they completely swamped me, and it wasn't like I needed clothes to hide the few curves I ha-

_Knock. Knock. Crunch._

I winced as I heard the inevitable conclusion to the battle between Vinnie's metal hand and my wooden door. Gawd, just like Vince to be annoyingly on time. I'd have to stall him. I padded, barefoot, to the front door, and opened it to find something surprisingly tasty: bed-head Vince.

Now, the guy doesn't comb his hair too often anyways (thus confirming my suspicions that Vince is a secret hippy and advocates peace, love and seven different kinds of drugs), but when he really lets it go, it's actually kind of impressive. More like a mane, than anything, framing his head and making him seem kinda...wild.

Oh, wait wait WAIT. I meant 'tasty' as in a tasty blackmail opportunity. Not as in the somewhat scary 'he looks tasty, I'll get the pepper', or the more awkward 'he looks tasty, I wonder how he'll take it if I squeeze his buttocks'. Just wanted to clear that up.

Even though those buttocks would be pretty tempting to other, less refined women, I thought. Then I started wondering idly if any of those bottles had any beer left in them. No use wasting good booze.

"Yuffie. You're in surprisingly good condition." he rumbled, stepping in.

"Yeah, well. You'll still have to wait before you take me off to work. I kinda had a party last night, and I haven't showered." I said. Vincent coughed awkwardly.

"Yuffie, I am well aware of the party. I was also in attendance."

My jaw hit the ground like an elevator with a cut cable. I coulda smashed a Brazil nut with it, I swear.

"_You_ were at a _party?_ With, like, _people?_ What's gone wrong in the world?" I teased.

"Well, whatever did go wrong, I'm sure you drank enough to forget the misery it caused you." he smirked. Smirking was kinda a new expression for Vinnie, and he'd been using it more and more often recently.

Tifa blamed my influence. If it were _her _influence, he'd have grown boobs.

"So. Didja do anything interesting when you were drunk?" I asked conversationally. My mind's eye had dollar signs in it. Today was turning out to be a great day for blackmail.

"I wasn't drunk." he said, his voice taking a sharp edge. I ignored it.

"How do you know? You might have just forgotten." I smiled.

"I am a genetically engineered monster, and a Turk before that. I can handle my alcohol." he said darkly.

"Pfft. I'm a ninja and I've been stealing my dad's sake for since I was five, but that doesn't mean I can't get smashed every so often."

"So often being how often you get smashed, I assume." Damn him and his word games.

"Yeah, yeah. Seeing as you're, like, this almighty Turk, gunman and amateur poet guy, could you make us some breakfast whilst I take my shower? I don't care if Reeve's blowing steam out of his ears- I'm not leaving without a shower." I pouted. He silently nodded, and that was that.

It's strange, how you can trust Vincent with some things and not with others. As the hot water hit my skin and my mind started to clear from an alcohol haze, I started to think of Vincent cooking breakfast. Somehow, all my mental images contained a good deal of fire, a dash of smoke, and me looking for a new house. Of course, that assumed that he didn't accidentally burn the house down whilst I was in the shower, in which case I would die. Because there is no way in hell I was going to go out of my house with only a towel on.

With that in mind, I rushed doing my hair, and ended my shower a lot quicker than I wanted to. Throwing the same (chronically unfashionable) clothes on, I rushed to the kitchen to check exactly how much fire Vincent had caused.

I never even got to the kitchen, to be honest. He was sitting in my living room, eating a plate of Continental Breakfast in the most utterly civilised way I'd ever seen. It may have been the first time that my cutlery was exposed to that most dangerous of perversions- table manners. I mentally made a note of how ridiculous he looked sitting on my tiny sofa. He waved a metal hand at a plate identical to his, plainly meant for me. I grabbed a fork and got started.

"You can cook." I said, surprised, my mouth very full of bacon.

"I can cook." he confirmed, his mouth very not full of bacon.

We didn't talk again until I had scraped my plate clean, and he'd done the same but taken way longer. Stupid table manners.

"So." I said, looking desperately for a conversation topic. Vince was kinda hard to talk to. "Are you _sure_ you didn't do anything last night?"

"Very." he said, looking at me strangely. "Although, even if I did, I doubt it would have lived up to what _you_ did."

Oh no.

"What did I do?" I asked, unable to keep the little squeak of panic from my voice. This was just great. I'm finally gotten to know Vince a little, with the whole poetry festival and the dancing and everything else, and now I'd spoiled it all in a single night of drunkenness.

"Hn. Are you even sure you want to know, Yuffie? It was somewhat..." he tailed off, making a circular motion with his metal hand.

"Oh, Gaaaaaaaaaaawd." I moaned.

"At any rate, there will be time to discuss your antics later." he said, rising. "Reeve is expecting us to be there...about six minutes ago."

I groaned, and got to my feet. Vince really was all business, even if he could cook a mean breakfast. I plucked my keys from the table, and was immediately surprised when Vincent plucked them from my hand. His fingers were long, thin, and surprisingly warm, and the goosebumps on my arms stood to attention as he smiled at me.

"I'm driving, Yuffie. I still haven't gotten over the trauma." he said. I got the feeling he was never going to let me drive.

"You can't handle one car crash? Some genetically engineered monster you are." I muttered. He heard me, but he didn't look too angry.

* * *

We didn't talk on the drive, except for one incident. As we pulled up to the lights in our (our? I meant _my_) Shadowfox, a punk on a motorbike pulled alongside us. I had the window down with my arm hanging out.

"Hey, baby!" he said, in the most annoying accent ever. "You and me could have some fun!"

"Yeah, right, Austin Powers. Go back to your mom's basement." I spat. The punk laughed. I turned to Vinny, and I could see from the set of his jaw that he was in Chivalry mode.

Note to self: must introduce Vinnie to a hardcore feminist. Preferably one who doesn't realise that he always carries a gun.

"Vince, race this guy." I hissed. He looked at me as if I'd gone crazy. Figures. He's a complete b.a.m.f., but he obeys road traffic laws.

"Yuffie, we're in an armoured van. He's on a motorbike. We will lose." he said calmly.

I was still annoyed with him as we pulled off from the lights at a fraction of the punk's speed. In fact, I was annoyed at him for the rest of the drive, until we arrived at a destination that I wasn't expecting.

"Vince, this...isn't work. This is Tifa's bar." I said, poking him.

"How convenient. Look." he said, ignoring me and pointing. I rolled my eyes and looked. I was surprised to see Austin Powers' motorbike parked there.

"Vince, tell me you didn't follow this guy here because he ticked you off." I groaned. I could do without a bar fight. He ignored me again.

"Yuffie, I am an upstanding citizen and I support the law in all its forms." he said, going completely off topic. I groaned. What in the- "However, I don't think I would be able to notice if someone were to let all the air out of his tyres."

I looked at Vincent long enough to clock that he was smirking again. Then I got out of the van.

Payback time.

After I'd gotten my revenge, Vince escorted me (basically frogmarched me, but anyways) into Teef's bar. I wondered exactly what we were doing there. As I walked in, I saw the motorbike punk leer at me from a corner booth. I stuck my tongue out.

"Yuffie, Vincent! You're a little late, y'know."

It was Tifa, and hell was she wearing a smile. It lit up her face like her lips were made of neon.

"My apologies, Tifa. Yuffie needed time to become respectable." Vince muttered. I could almost hear the afterthought in his voice: "Well, respectable for her." I realised that he was teasing me.

"Ha ha. I'm not surprised, after what she did. Well, Cloud, Reeve and everyone are in back, so go on through." Tifa giggled.

I scoured Vincent's face for clues as to what the hell was going on. He noticed, of course, and as we walked into down the long corridor to Tifa's back-room, he talked without me prompting him.

"Hn. You don't remember what the party last night was about, I suppose?" he asked lightly.

"Of course not. It was just a party, right?"

He shook his head in an exasperated way. "No, Yuffie. If it were merely another party, I would not have attended."

"Then what _was _it?"

"Cloud and Tifa have announced their relationship officially." he explained. "Barret thought it was 'about fricking time', and ordered a party to be thrown. We _all_ attended, although I think Cid only came because Barret was paying for it."

My elevator jaw hit the ground again, and started getting friction burns as we walked down the hallway. As we reached the door, I regained my senses, and grabbed Vinnie by the mantle.

"And you couldn't have told me this _before_?" I hissed, getting right up in his face.

He smirked again in the most evil way possible, and pushed the door to the back-room open with one hand. Immediately, everyone was staring as I stood with my face mere inches from Vinnie's mouth and my hands on his chest.

"Oh. Are you guys announcing your relationship too?" Cloud asked, walking over.

I almost killed him.

* * *

After a long day's...well, drinking, Vince insisted on driving me home again. He walked out of the door to start the engine of the Shadowfox. Discreetly, I took Tifa aside.

"Teef, I heard some stuff from Vince...Did I do anything embarrassing last night?"

She leant forward and whispered, her breath tickling my ears. I felt myself blanche.

"I did WHAT?"

"Well, well." Vinnie said, framing himself in the doorway with the keys in his hand. "There goes _my_ blackmail angle. Obviously, this 'karma' you told me about doesn't work too well."

I ran over and kicked him in a very delicate place.

"Don't be so sure." I smirked, as he doubled over.

* * *

A/N: Well, sorry for the huge delay. I really wasn't sure what I was doing with this...And I'm also not sure how it came out. Vinnie may be a little OOC, but I blame Yuffie's influence, like everyone else.


	4. Indiscretion

_**Black

* * *

**_

It had been an eventful day, to be sure. Very little shakes the senses quite so much as Yuffie suddenly bounding into one's cubicle, brandishing pictures that, at a glance, are vaguely incriminating.

"Bwhahaha! Tifa and Cloud, sittin' in a tree..." she sang, bouncing around my workspace.

"Yes, Yuffie. It is common knowledge that Cloud and Tifa are currently in a relationship. I believe there was a party to mark the occasion, which we both attended." I groaned.

"But Vinnie, they're _kissing._" she said, as if it were the most scandalous thing ever. She kept thrusting a photograph under my nose, trying to get me to look; I declined. I didn't particularly feel like appraising Cloud's kissing technique.

"Yes, Yuffie, they're kissing. That's what adults in a relationship _do._" I explained.

Yuffie made a sound that certainly wasn't from any language I knew, and was almost certainly rude.

"This is Cloud and Teef! Blondie and Brawler! Chocobo and Boobs! What part of this are you _not _getting?" she huffed.

"It's perfectly normal for them to be doing these things. What part of this are _you_ not getting?" I shot back.

We had an angry silence, which culminated in Yuffie accusing me of being boring, and stalking off. Sometimes I wonder what exactly motivates her to provoke these discussions.

In fact, not merely sometimes; more and more frequently, we would argue over trifling matters. Our arguments were most frequently heard echoing around the box-shaped façades of the WRO office, bouncing from wall to flimsy, farcical, unforgiving wall. We disturbed each and every one of our co-workers on such occasions, and I had chanced to hear some shadowy, malignant whispers about our persons making their way around the office.

The situation, of course, demanded action. It could not remain as it had been. But in my mind, action was somehow irrepressibly tied up with the image of Yuffie, and the current tempestuous state of our relations prompted me to avoid doing anything that reminded me of her. Instead, I chose my own path, a path I had walked before, and one that was far more frightening than the prospect of conceding Yuffie was right; I waited.

All things must atrophy. Memories, friendships, and the people who form those things are not exempt from the abrasive edges of time. If you wait and persevere, most problems will simply fall away around you, provided that you wait long enough.

The problem I faced was that, although I detested our frequent arguments, I enjoyed Yuffie's company. I enjoyed the fledgeling bond we had created, the brief flashes of insight into a mind so very much unlike my own. If nothing else, her unique perspective on life was interesting; and, as I fear that my emotions are still less than normally active (I have no way of knowing this for sure, as one cannot simply compare activity of emotions to another person), if I make an intellectual attachment to something, I must be sure to pursue it.

And, of course, all this procrastination and thinking about the problems that Yuffie was causing caused problems by itself. For one thing, my paperwork was three days late, and Reeve very much desired that it be finished as soon as possible. My efficiency in fieldwork was down, too- I was taking an estimated 0.12 seconds longer to make decisions than I had been before the advent of my disagreement with Yuffie. Although Reeve didn't particularly care, this was, to me, unacceptable. Quick decisions in battle were the essence of being a Turk, or at least a living Turk, and this mindset was one I had preserved.

The difficulty was that I was reluctant to take any method of the solving the problem that I thought Yuffie might take, which ruled out simply talking about the problem or expunging it via a blazing argument. This left me with only two methods of solving problems that I am familiar with, the first being to wait for it to go away and the second being to shoot it in the head. These would both be detrimental to the situation.

I was distracted from my thoughts for a time by an immense form of pressure that can only be exuded by a stack of paper the height of a head, sitting resolutely in your to-do pile. In fact, this distraction took me the rest of the day. Although I worked diligently, my work was slowed by my inadvertent ripping of the paper with my metal gauntlet, and the fact that my other hand was accustomed to holding a gun far more than a pen. Yuffie occasionally walked by, carrying an air of angry silence and a polystyrene cup full of coffee in each hand.

As the day approached its end, and I approached the final portion of my backlog, Yuffie drew into my cubicle, and set a cup of coffee down on my desk. Of course, she took great care to position it directly over my paperwork, so as to leave a coffee ring on each and every piece of paper I had dealt with today. Even when angry, Yuffie still has a penchant for practical jokes.

"Are you ready to apologise yet?" she pouted angrily.

I took a moment to consider my options. Although apologising would provide a remedy for our current argument, it would not fix the source of the problem. In addition, it would create false expectations of me in future interaction. I decided that the best ploy was a feint and sting manoeuvre.

"Yes, Yuffie. I apologise for not humouring you in whatever trivial observation you felt you were making." I said, flashing my eyes downwards.

"What? Hey, just because it's not poetry, or _rocket science_, or, or, bullet trajectories or something like that, doesn't mean it's worthless!" she spat.

"You were merely pointing out obvious physical manifestations of Cloud and Tifa's relationship." I growled. "Such thinking is wasteful, and will not further your development either emotionally or intellectually."

"Oh, like you can talk about 'emotional development'! You're about as developed as a blank photograph!" she hissed.

"At least I make a concerted effort to improve my development." I spat back. Where was all this venom coming from?

"And that's _exactly_ why you never _do_ develop!" she all but screamed. Her hands clenched the desk; her knuckles were white, and she was shaking so much that my pens were starting to bounce.

Abruptly, she turned and left, like a departing desert wind. The tension in the air dissipated; the tension within myself did not. As the clock inched nearer and nearer to the end of the day, I sank a little closer to the desk as I finished my paperwork.

* * *

Even in my own home, there was little respite from the day's events. The air seemed stiflingly warm, even though the temperature was only fractionally above normal levels. I wondered, briefly, if I should consider wearing clothes that weren't made of leather, for the sake of coolness. But I remembered distinctly that I didn't currently own such articles. An idea formed.

In retrospect, what I was doing was futile. My thoughts were floating around the hostility at the office like dust motes swirling in a sunbeam, and I was trying to distract myself with the prospect of a simple foray to the shopping outlet to purchase clothes, an activity I had little interest in. Still, I blithely tried to hammer out the details, until I realised that I had no idea what was fashionable or not in this day and age. I would need someone to accompany me and give me feedback.

There, my idea broke. I knew only one person who had time and energy enough to teach me the ins and outs of modern clothing, and she was currently furious at me. I realised that my problem was not going to go away. I needed to deal with it.

Pretending to myself that I was only attempting to reconcile with Yuffie for the temporary benefit of a new set of clothes (it is far easier, I find, to be motivated by a solid and materialistic goal than one focused on intangible things like relationships and emotions), I went about my problem methodically. When exactly had our hostilities began?

The obvious answer was that we had begun to argue shortly shortly after I escorted Yuffie to Tifa's bar, and the issue of her alcohol-fuelled indiscretion had come up.

Due to Tifa and Cloud's celebration of their newly-founded relationship, Yuffie took in more alcohol than was strictly possible. Some people, Reeve for example, grow quiet and sombre when drunk. For others, like Cid, alcohol has the same effect as a truth serum, with the additional side effect of increasing the amount of nonsense spoken. And people like Barret grow even more...lively, when drunk.

However, Yuffie's drunken character is somewhat of a mystery; although she occasionally drinks, she does not often drink in the presence of our group (Tifa refuses to serve her, on most occasions. And all the fake ID in the world cannot persuade Tifa that Yuffie is 28). So, by default, I disregarded everything she said that night.

Until, of course, she lolled her head back, flashed me a cheery grin and said, "Y'know, Vince, if we weren't so tight, and you weren't such a dork, I would _so _fall in love with you. Hell, I would be your freakin' _fangirl_. Honestly, why? Why the leather trousers, Vince? Just take them off."

As soon as she said this, the entire room broke into laughter. I was a little nonplussed, to say the least. However, that was soon remedied by Cloud taking me to one side and interpreting what she'd said.

This presented a quandary. How to act on the knowledge that I was held in such esteem in Yuffie's eyes? The obvious answer was to pretend I'd never heard her say it. The another answer was to regard the information as unreliable, as it had been gleaned with the help of rather too much alcohol.

The third course of action, and the one I chose, was one I imagined to be after Yuffie's own heart: to simply treat the occurrence as some sort of joke. Which is why I made treated it as 'blackmail material', again like Yuffie would have.

It seemed strange, then, that we argued vehemently about it. She seemed hurt, and lashed out; I lashed back, in self defence, and things grew frosty between us. That was how this entire predicament started.

Of course, the entire situation had started because I had acted like Yuffie would act, instead of how _I _would act. So, obviously, the person most adept at solving the problem would be Yuffie, who was _part_ of the problem. And hence my quandary.

I groaned in the empty silence of my own house. The only way to remain friends with Yuffie was to deal with things the way Yuffie would. But what would Yuffie _do_ in a situation like this?

As soon as I shelved my reservations about taking Yuffie-like actions and started actually thinking about it, the answer became startlingly clear. She'd solve the problem the same way she solved every other problem: by flooding my answerphone with messages.

Hesitantly, I tapped in the number. Phones were not my strong suit. What would happen if she picked the phone up and it didn't go to answerphone? What if we argued again? But it was too late; the phone was starting to connect, and if I cancelled the call now, it would seem like I was harassing her.

"_Y'ello_?"

She picked it up at the second ring. I should have known.

"Ah, Yuffie. How do I leave a message?"

This was the wrong thing to say. Now she must think that I didn't want to talk to her, or that I was being rude.

"_What? Why can't you say what you wanna say now, you vampire reject? Why are you calling, anyways?_"

It is a strange thing. Despite the inhuman effect of the phone, despite the distance that separated us, despite the blank anonymity that the mobile phone gifted us with, I could still imagine the look on her face as she spoke. There was no real difference from talking to her face-to-face; no shielding effect from morality and emotion, contrary to what I had read in the papers. It was just me talking to her, like in the office. The office...Yes, apologies.

"Actually, I had called in order to leave a message to affirm my regret for what transpired at our workplace today."

"_Speak like a normal person, Vinnie._" In my mind's eye, she was suppressing a smile.

"I am sorry for arguing with you."

Now she would have a look of mild surprise.

"_Uh...Well, thanks, I guess. I s'pose I was kinda bothering you, so...Yeah, I'll, um, overlook it this time. 'Cause I'm mature like that."_

"In addition...I wish to apologise for mocking your indiscretion at Cloud and Tifa's party." I said. Suddenly, my mouth was dry, and I realised that this was the heart of the issue.

"_Oh. That."_ She would look embarrassed. Wrong footed.

"Yes. I merely thought it would be the least awkward way to proceed. However, I seem to have offended you, for which I sincerely apologise."

"_Gawd, Vince..."_ she muttered. I could see her, biting her bottom lip, trying to rearrange her wild thoughts into cogent sentences. _"I mean, it's not like you were ragging on me, or anything...It's just that you're not really the joking type. I honestly thought that you thought I was an idiot."_

"That is not the case, I assure you." I said. Waiting.

"_Yeah, I know...But...Well, Vince, I was drunk, but even so, I said I was falling in love with you. Whether I was drunk or not, whether it's even **true** or not, you don't laugh and joke around when someone says that...It's, like, you think they're not good enough for you, y'know?"_

I knew.

"_Anyway...Let's just forget about it, mmkay?"_ she said, attempting to draw the conversation to a close. I couldn't let that happen.

"Wait, Yuffie. You also told me something along the lines of taking my leather trousers off."

"_Oh, Gawd, Vinnie. Don't get into that. Just don't."_ she groaned.

"My only response to that is that _all_ my trousers are fashioned from leather, and I require someone to aid me in searching for a pair that aren't." I blurted out, quickly and awkwardly. It was strangely reminiscent of my teenage years.

"_Wait. You wanna go shopping? For, like, normal people clothes? Am I hearing this right?"_ she said. She would be making a fake gasp on the other end of the line.

"You are indeed. If you would care to accompany me to the shopping outlet to record the moment for posterity, as well as provide some degree of taste, I would be very appreciative." I smiled.

"_I wouldn't miss it for the world. Never thought I'd get you outta those leather kecks of yours. We'll go...uh...Thursday?"_

"Thursday it shall be. Thank you."

"_Umm...Okay. Well, I'll, uh, see you at work."_ she said, disconnecting the call before I could respond.

I continued to stare at the phone even after she hung up. Such a very useful artefact, and I had never once bothered to explore its many possibilities. Perhaps I should.

* * *

The next day, all was well in the office. A few whispers still circulated, but Yuffie and I were back on far more friendly terms. It was somewhat wobbly at first, but soon enough, she was telling me all sorts of stories about her friends outside of Avalanche and the crazy things they did.

However, a small beep sounded, which was soon followed by an intricate pattern of beeps. Yuffie looked at me with some suspicion.

"Vince, why is the theme from Loveless coming from your back pocket?" she asked, eyebrows narrowed.

I took my phone out, and it continued to play revolting, processed pop music. My landlord was putting up rents again. I sighed, and looked at Yuffie.

"I tried setting a ringtone. It doesn't appear to have worked as I expected it to."

* * *

A/N: Well, there's another chapter of Black And White, which I...really didn't plan. Spur of the moment thing, I guess. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
